


But Not Her

by Nevermore_red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Assumptions, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mix of book and show, jealous Sansa, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-06 07:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18383993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: The Long Night is over, the Night King has been defeated. Sansa is struggling with accepting what she sees as a relationship blooming between her sister and Sandor Clegane. But what she thinks she sees isn't the reality of the situation.





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa had not fought in the war, not like Arya or Jon had. She served a different purpose. Staying behind the walls of Winterfell, and then eventually leading the evacuation to Riverrun, Sansa had been busy dealing with things like treating the wounded, managing food supplies and rations, burning the dead, and keeping up with the provisions that they sent to the front lines whenever they could. The worst of it was receiving the ravens listing the dead and having to inform the wives or children or mothers that their loved one was gone. It had not been an easy task, but she never complained. She did her duty as best she could and handled the fear and loneliness in her own time.

Now, with war over and won, she was happy to be back home in Winterfell. Luckily it had withstood the Long Night well and only minor repairs needed to be made. Her days were still just as busy. Maybe even more so. The rebuilding needed seen to, the rehoming of displaced people, managing all the issues of the Norths people. There were farms to be tilled and replanted, the glass gardens that needed to be tended. Livestock to be rebuilt and still rations were in place. She had very little time to fully enjoy that what was left of her family had made it home alive. Arya was of great help to her and Jon, even though he'd moved South with his newborn son, sent ravens and what provisions he could spare. He was dealing with his own pain and loss after Daenerys had been killed during the war shortly before it was over, just after she'd delivered their son. 

With the spring now thawing out the world, Sansa found herself counting her blessings. Arya was alive. Her home was still standing. Her people trusted and believed in her. Brienne was by her side. Bran, somewhere beyond the Wall, checked in with them in his own way. A deer that would walk up to them, or a bird that would perch on her window and not fly away scared when she approached. And there was also one more thing. Sandor Clegane. He had stopped in at Winterfell at the start of the war with Jon and Dany before going to the Wall. He also returned with Arya and the others. And he hadn't left.

Sansa put him to use, training the garrison and eventually he accepted the position of commander. She had been shocked at how excited she was when he first arrived. They had even traded ravens during the war. Sansa knew from talking with Arya that they had fought side by side, and that he had saved her life many a times. It was also confusing to Sansa that it bothered her that Sandor and Arya spent so much time together.

It was only reasonable, Sansa told herself. Arya trained with him. He was the strongest warrior they had and Arya always strove to learn from the best. They also shared interests, like bawdy jokes and strong ale. They had a bond forged from their time together after leaving Kings Landing that only strengthened during war. She wasn't sure exactly why it stung so much. But she couldn't deny that it did.

At the moment she sat at the high table during dinner, her food untouched before her and Brienne chatting with Ser Jaime beside her. Her eyes were fastened on her sister at one of the other tables. Arya never sat at the high table. She preferred to eat with the men. Or Sandor, as it were. She sat beside him, her small body angled towards him as he spoke of something that Sansa couldn't hear. Arya replied, making a hand motion like she was thrusting a sword. Then she laughed and Sandor grinned down at his food.

Sansa never saw him smile when they talked. It wasn't often that she got the chance, but when she did find free time, she preferred to spend it with him. He, it seemed, preferred to spend his with Arya.

Sansa was happy for them. Really, she was. She wanted nothing more than for Arya to be happy and cared for. Sandor could make her sister laugh, and it was obvious that he cared for her. That was all Sansa had ever wanted for Arya. And although Sansa deeply cared for Sandor, more so than was probably healthy for her, she also wanted him to be happy. He'd had so little happiness in his life.

None of that changed the fact that it hurt her. Not that she would ever, ever say anything to get in the way of either of their happiness.

"Are you not hungry, Lady Sansa?" Brienne asked from beside her and Sansa jerked her gaze away from the two of them and looked at Brienne, then her still full plate.

"No." she forced a small smile. "I'm not, actually. I think I'll go get a start on the scrolls waiting for me." she pushed away from the table and Brienne immediately followed.

"Would you like for me to escort you?"

"I'll be fine, Brienne." she waved her off. "Finish your food and retire early. You start a long journey back to Tarth tomorrow."

"Yes, My Lady." she tilted her head and waited until Sansa started walking away before sitting back down. Before Sansa stepped out of the great hall, she cast one last glance back at Arya and Sandor. Sandor was no longer there, having probably went searching for someone to refill his ale. Arya was sitting back now, talking with Gendry across the table.

Arya found her later, sitting in her solar and going over the latest grain count.

"Gods." Arya dropped in the chair across from Sansa's desk. "That's a lot of parchment."

"Being Lady of Winterfell and Warden in the North comes with many responsibilities." Sansa said without looking up from her task.

"What are all of these?" Arya questioned, leaning over and grabbing a new scroll from a stack of them.

"Marriage proposals." Sansa informed her with a sigh.

"All of them?" Arya grabbed a couple more and scanned them.

"A dozen in total." Sansa sat her quill down and stretched her fingers out. "The latest is from Harrold Hardying, new Lord of the Vale."

"Will you accept any?" Arya tossed the scrolls back onto the desk. Sansa gathered them up and placed them with the others.

"I will not." Sansa rubbed her forehead. "I don't need to marry. I don't wish it. And none of these offers are anything I want."

"Good for you." Arya grinned. "Although that does bring about an issue with heirs."

"I can name one of your children as my heir." Sansa shrugged. She had thought of it before.

"My children?" Arya shouted. "And what children are these? Have you already picked a husband for me, sister?"

"No." Sansa lifted a brow calmly at her sister’s outburst. "I would never marry you off. You know this. I assume you will eventually pick your own husband. If you haven't already."

"Already?" Arya snorted. "I haven't picked a husband."

"No?" Sansa questioned casually, feeling anything but, and reached for the grain count again although she wasn't really looking at it. "You and Clegane seem rather close. I thought perhaps the two of you..."

Arya's laughter cut her off. It was loud and unladylike and rather annoying. Sansa looked up at her with both brows raised.

"You think..." she trailed off with a fit of snorts. "Sandor and I? What in the name of the gods gave you that idea?"  

"I don't know, Arya." Sansa nearly sneered. Sneering wasn't ladylike, so she restrained. "Perhaps it's the amount of time you spend together. The two of you are practically attached to one another. You have history together and undeniably there is a bond between the two of you."

"As do you and Brienne, but I don't see you marrying her." Arya countered with a smirk, sitting back in her chair.

"You are such a child sometimes."

Arya simply shrugged. "Sansa, I don't want to marry the Hound. The Hound certainly doesn't want to marry me. We're...friends, I suppose you could say. I think he sees me more as a little sister. Or perhaps even a daughter. He's so...old."

"He is not old." Sansa argued before she could stop herself.

It was Arya's turn to raise her brow, a small smile at the corner of her mouth.

Sansa sat silently for a moment, taking in what her sister said. It eased something inside of her to hear it. That didn't mean Sandor shared in those thoughts.

Arya snorting once again pulled her out of her thoughts and Sansa met her sisters amused gaze.

"What?" she asked, suddenly feeling like Arya could see inside of her head. She had that ability sometimes.

"You're a blind idiot sometimes, you know that?"

"Excuse me?" Sansa snapped.

"Sandor very well might see me as a sister or a daughter, someone he feels the need to protect, but he doesn't look at you that way."

"I have Brienne to protect me." Sansa lifted her chin, then a single brow. "Besides, I've never met someone in less need of protection than you."

"Brienne is leaving on the morrow." Arya reminded her. "But that isn't what I meant anyway."

"Then what is it you did mean, Arya?" Sansa rubbed at the place between her brows where a headache was beginning to form. "I'm not in the mood for your riddles. I have work to do."

Arya stood, then leaned over with her palms on Sansa's desk. "Men don't look at their sisters the way Sandor Clegane looks at you. Except maybe Jaime Lannister at one point. And the Targaryen’s. They were an incestuous bunch."

"Arya." Sansa said with a warning tone. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I do." she pushed off the desk to stand. "Like you said, I'm with him a lot. I notice who he looks at and how he looks at them. He doesn't look at anyone the way he looks at you. Why is it you think he came here to stay? It wasn't me, I can promise you that."

Sansa felt her heart flutter and for some reason she felt a blush rising into her cheeks. "He...he had nowhere else to go." she said softly, spoken almost like a question.

"Oh, hells." Arya scoffed. "He had the entire damned known world to go to. He's a free man. But he chose Winterfell, and not because of the climate."

"But he never seeks me out the way he does you. He spends all of his free time with you."

Arya rolled her eyes. "He spends his free time with me because I'm there. He's not going to seek you out, Sansa. You'll need to do the seeking. If it's what you want. He'll not push you for anything and he for damn sure won't be the one to initiate anything. He cares too much to put the burden of his feelings on you."

Sansa nearly laughed at the way Arya said cares, like it was such a dirty word. But she didn't. She was too busy thinking about what else she had said.

"Oh." Arya turned from the door, which she had walked to after speaking. "If it's still in question, I've been spending nearly every night in Gendry's bedchamber. In his bed. With him. Naked. Not sleeping. Because I want Gendry like that. Not Sandor. And Gendry wants me like that. Not Sandor."

Sansa gaped at her sister for a moment, scandalized for a brief second before she clamped her mouth shut just as Arya turned with a smile and opened the door.

"Marry that boy, Arya, before you fill the North with bastards!" Sansa called out to her.

"I'll do as I please, My Lady!" Arya called back before shutting the door.

 

Over the next few days, Sansa paid closer attention to Sandor himself than he and Arya's proximity. She noticed that, while he listened when Arya spoke, she was never the center of his focus. She also noticed that Sandor was usually a bystander to Arya and Gendry's conversations. Sansa hadn't noticed that before. That Gendry was always there as well. She'd been blinded by her attention on Sandor and Arya.

She noticed that he continuously scanned the area but when his eyes caught hers, or her form, he simply stared at her. Stared at her in a way that he never did with Arya, or anyone else. Ever since Brienne had left to go back to her home on Tarth, he'd also put himself closer to her physically. He walked with her, sat closer to her, watched her. He was always watching her.

How had she never noticed that before?

After a week spent hiding a blush under his intense focus, Sansa decided Arya was right. She needed to make the first attempt. The marriage proposals were nonstop and she did realize the need for her to be wed, if only to produce heirs for the North. Who better to marry than Sandor? She didn't need a Lord or someone with a powerful name. Not with her own name carrying all the power she could need, and not with her position in the North so secure. It would be no different than when Cersei married Robert and kept the last name of Lannister instead of taking on Baratheon. Sansa could still be a Stark, and Sandor could still be a Clegane. If he would agree. She needed someone at her side that would care for her. That would protect her. Someone strong and fierce, but also kind and gentle. Someone that she could love, and that would love her in return. Because if there was anything that Sansa Stark deserved after all she had been through in life, it was to be happy and loved.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's non detailed mentions of Sansa's past abuse from Ramsay in this chapter. Nothing is discussed graphically, but I thought I'd put a warning in place just in case!

Sansa meant for it to take place in the Godswood. It seemed the right spot, but it turned out the fates had other ideas. Or perhaps Sansa just wasn't as patient as she had thought she was. It did, however, happen in the training yard. Sansa, with a brief break in her duties, stood on the parapet watching as Sandor instructed two men as they went at each other with blunted swords. He leaned back against the wooden wall, arms crossed over his chest as his eyes watched the movements of the men, occasionally calling out advice or instruction. He wore no armor, only boiled leather, and Sansa still wasn't used to the sight of him. When she was just a girl in Kings Landing, she had mostly seen him in armor. She had thought perhaps most of his size had come from the metal he wore. It turned out, it wasn't. Sandor Clegane was just a huge man.

Sansa had made no noise, just watched silently, but suddenly his head turned up towards her and his eyes unerringly caught on hers. Her heart fluttered and her belly made a slow roll. She swallowed hard before raising a hand in a wave. He didn't uncross his arms, but bowed his head in response. She couldn't really make out his eyes from here, other than they were looking at her, but she could imagine the silvery grey hues. When she was young, his wild gaze had frightened her to no end, more so than his scars ever did. Now they were calmer, but no less intense. And they were her favorite part of him. He was still looking at her when Arya's voice rang out through the chilly air.

"Oh, for fucks sake." she groused, causing both Sansa and Sandor to look towards her. Sansa clenched her fists. She couldn't remember how many times she had to tell Arya she couldn't talk like that. "The two of you and all the staring. It's getting bothersome." she looked up at Sansa with her hands on her hips.

"Come down here, Sansa."

Sansa wanted to argue, to yell at her sister that she couldn't tell her what to do, but that would be childish. She refused to make more of a scene then what Arya was currently making. Straightening her shoulders instead, Sansa slowly made her way down to the training yard.

"Is there something you need, sister?" Sansa asked with false curiosity.

"Yes." Arya pointed to Sandor, who stood several feet away, still leaning against the wall. "Go over to that man and talk to him. He has work to do, as do you, and so do I. None of that will get done properly with you two eye fucking each other all the time."

"Watch your mouth, Arya." Sansa warned in a cold whisper, her cheeks burning with anger and embarrassment. At least Arya had spoken quiet enough that only Sansa had heard what she said. Hopefully. A quick peek at Sandor told her that he heard as well.

"I'll watch my mouth after you've put us all out of our misery." Arya whispered back, and then abruptly turned and walked away.

"Fuck off, the lot of you." Sandor yelled out, and Sansa stood wearily as the training yard emptied out quickly, with nothing more than whispered murmurs and curious glances.

"Your sister sure has a way with words." he said once they were alone, pushing off the wall so he was standing, but still not approaching her.

"Yes." Sansa fiddled with the end of her necklace. "She's always been very...eloquent."

Sandor snorted, good leg kicking at the dirt for a second before he looked back at her. "She is a talker, that much is true."

Unable to keep looking at him, Sansa glanced down at his chest instead. She had a horrible idea that she knew what he was referring to.

"Is she?" she questioned under her breath. "I should have a talk with her about that."

"Aye, you should." he nodded. "But first, we should have a talk. Aye?"

"What would you like to talk about?" she asked, forcing her eyes back to his.

"The little wolf made some comments, suggesting you think she and I would make a good pair. Is that so?"

"I..." Sansa cleared her throat to give herself some time. "I mentioned how much time the two of you spent together. How you seem to care for her. The only thing I want for my sister in marriage is to be happy and cared for."

"I'm sure the Baratheon bastard will give her that, if the girl ever decides to wed." he cocked his head, grey eyes looking at her intently. "I care for the girl, aye, but I don't want her. Not that way. Never that way."

"That's good." Sansa said a little too earnestly before checking herself. "She had said much the same about you. I would hate for either of you to be disappointed. You both deserve to be happy."

Sandor scoffed and shook his head. "Bugger happiness. I'm alive, at least."

"Stop that." she snapped, taking a step towards him. "You do. I know you do. You've done so much, you've fought so hard. You deserve happiness, Sandor Clegane."

Sandor eyed her for a long second. "And you don't?"

"Excuse me?"

"You don't?" he repeated. "Because from what I've seen, you hold yourself apart from everyone. Even Arya. When's the last time you willingly let a man touch you, huh? You won't even let one escort you anywhere. You shy away from any physical touch from every man except Jon."

"What?" she breathed, unaware that it had been so obvious.

"Don't play stupid, girl." he warned her. "I've seen you. Just last week you damn near screamed bloody murder when Davos bumped into you in the hall. You won't let yourself be happy."

"I don't need a man’s touch to be happy." she narrowed her eyes at him.

"Of course not." he narrowed his eyes right back. "But you cling to the past. Wear it like armor. I know you, little bird. I know the want you have to be close to others. How you crave companionship. Weariness is one thing, but this..." he motioned to her. "You've turned cold as a statue."

"You know nothing." she whispered harshly. "If you had even a fraction of the idea of what I've endured..."

"I do." he cut her off calmly. "As I've said, your sister talks. So do the others in this castle."

"If you know what was done to me, how badly I was hurt by him, how can you even say such things?"

"Because you've let him win." he growled. "You've let him beat you."

Before Sansa even knew what she was doing, her gloved hand was striking him across the cheek. She paused for only a second and lifted her other hand to slap his other cheek, but his fingers caught her wrist and held her firmly, grey eyes watching her.

"How dare you." she jerked her hand away and he let her go. With her emotions boiling, Sansa shoved him with both hands, which was a lot like shoving a stubborn bull. He didn't even budge. So, she shoved him again, and again. When that didn't work, she balled up her fists and punched his chest.

"How dare you!" she cried out. "What right do you have?" she questioned through her tears, still beating on his chest. And he let her. Just stood there and withstood her blows like they were nothing more bothersome than a butterfly’s wings. She didn't even give a thought to how unladylike her behavior was, or that the Lady of Winterfell could be seen acting so childishly by anyone that happened by.

"How dare you." she whispered, her energy flowing out of her as the tears poured out. She hit him one more time, leaving her fists there, pressed against his solid chest. A second later and his arm slowly snaked around her waist, pulling her carefully into his body. Sansa went willingly, pressing her burning cheek into his leather covered chest, taking deep breaths of the smell of him. All leather and earth and man.

"You're alright." he said into her hair, awkwardly patting her back.

"I don't want him to beat me." she whispered into his chest, knowing he would hear her. "I don't want him to win. I just can't seem to help it. Every time a man touches me, or makes a move to touch me, I feel _him_. I hear _him_. The gentle, foreboding touches that preceded the painful ones." she sniffed and rubbed her cheek into his chest. "I live in fear and I'm afraid I won't ever be able to let myself be loved."

"Little bird." he said on a sigh. "You're one of the strongest women I've ever met in my life."

Sansa huffed before pulling back just slightly to look up at him. "I'm afraid you have me confused for Arya."

"Not physical strength." he amended. "You have a mental and emotional strength that few people have. Most would not have survived that cunt Joffrey. You did, and more. And you're still standing. Taller and more determined than ever."

"I can't marry." she tried to firm her voice so it did not waver, but now that she was speaking of her fears, she couldn't seem to stop. "I can't imagine letting some stranger into my home. Or allowing him to touch me. Not when the sole reason they are marrying me is because of my claim."

The burnt corner of his mouth twitched before he firmed it with a scowl. "Surely there will be a man that wants you more for just your claim."

Sansa got lost for a moment, looking up at his lovely grey eyes and suddenly seeing what she'd been looking for. Sandor wanted to be that man, but there was a fear there as well. Much like her own. She couldn't fathom what he was scared of, though.

"Could you be that man?" she heard herself asking, her stomach suddenly rolling and her heart skipping. His eyes widened and he searched her face. Then he looked at his hand on her upper arm. The other on her waist.

He was touching her, Sansa realized. And there was not even a glimmer of Ramsay in her mind. Not a single hint of fear that those hands on her would suddenly turn violent.

"I..."

"Clegane!" someone shouted, causing Sansa to jump, startled by the reminder that they were in full view of anyone walking by.

"This better be fucking good, Karstark." Sandor growled, removing his hands from her person and stepping back from her.

"It is, Ser." the young Karstark soldier assured. "The Briston brothers are fighting again. The younger one is already bleeding."

"Fucking cunts." Sandor said under his breath before letting out a huff. Then he looked at her, jaw ticking, and bowed shallowly before moving around her and off to deal with his men as commander of the garrison. Sansa turned to watch him go, mind swirling. He paused about five steps away and turned back to her.

"I could be." he informed her. "If you wanted me to be."

A smile burst across her face, bigger and more genuine than she could remember smiling. Effortlessly and without thought, a small bubble of giddiness came out as a laugh. Sandor huffed his own laugh, a smile twisting his scars for a moment before he pulled his mask back in place so he could deal with his disorderly men.  


	3. Chapter 3

There was no betrothal announcement, no feast or festival to celebrate their nuptials. The day of their wedding was spent as usual, the people of Winterfell and the surrounding Winters Town going on as usual. No one knew that it would be the day Lady Sansa Stark would tie herself in marriage to Sandor Clegane. Something Sansa couldn’t be happier about.

Her dress was simple, something she spent the previous weeks working on. Pale grey in color with bell sleeves and direwolves stitched along the hemlines and neck. She swept her hair up with plaits and her mother’s hairpins and Jon, who had come home for the occasion, led her into a mostly empty sept. Other than Arya standing up by the septon and Sandor, there was no one else in attendance. Save for a very attentive falcon that sat on the open windowsill. They said their simple but heartfelt oaths to each other, Sandor sealing all the promises made with a gentle kiss to her lips. Then he took her hand, leading her out into the Godswood by themselves. Once they were at the Heart Tree, neither of them spoke. Sansa knelt and closed her eyes, praying to her father’s Old Gods to grant them their blessing while also hoping that somehow, somewhere in the heavens her parents heard as well, and would be accepting of the choice she had made for herself.

When Sandor led her back to the castle, he left her with a nod and a shallow bow so that he could go and finish his days duties. Sansa smiled as she watched him go, pretending that her cheeks weren’t hot from the searing look he’d given her before he’d left her. A promise of what would come later that evening when they retired. Together.

Since he had asked and Sansa had accepted his proposal, they had slowly been working on getting Sansa comfortable with physical intimacy. Something that Sandor seemed to need just as much guidance with. But Sansa had slowly became comfortable enough to let his hands wonder around her body and Sandor had become confident enough not to turn away from her every time she wanted a kiss him or to touch him in return. Tonight, though…tonight they would lay fully together as man and wife. Something Sansa was both excited for, yet nervous about. Sandor had assured her time and again that he would not ask for more than she was willing to give, and would always stop at her word. He would keep her safe, Sansa knew. He would never hurt her. It’s what gave her the confidence and assurance that she wanted everything with him.

The rest of the day was spent as she normally spent it, which involved making sure Winterfell ran well and her people were taken care of. Every time she crossed paths with Sandor, though, he would meet her eye, a certain heat in his grey gaze, and Sansa would feel her belly tighten with longing until she was a bit of a squirming mess by the time evening meal came around.

The last meal of the day was spent in the smaller dining room, with just the remaining family (Arya and Sansa, along with Jon when he was home). Occasionally Ser Davos, now the head of the House Guard, would join them. Sandor and Gendry were also frequently there as well. Like tonight. The only difference being, Sandor sat next to her instead of across the table. When she informed Ser Davos and Gendry of their silent union, neither seemed surprised or unaccepting. Both gave them their congratulations and Ser Davos simply started asking Sandor questions about how the house guards would change with this new development. Namely that Sansa’s bedchamber would no longer need a guard stationed outside. When Sandor instructed this, Sansa blushed and smiled to herself, peeking over to see a rather pleased look on Sandor’s face as well.

Once their meal was finished, Sandor went with Ser Davos to do a walk around the grounds as they did every night, Jon always joining them when he was here. Sansa ignored Arya’s taunting and quickly made her way up to her bedchamber. There she dismissed her handmaid and disrobed herself before putting on her prettiest nightdress and leaving her robe draped over the chair where she’d left it that morning. Sitting at the foot of the bed, she worked her hair loose of it’s pins and braids and began to brush it out. Closing her eyes, she hummed to herself while she worked, the motion and the noise calming her. Her door clicking shut and the blot sliding home brought her eyes open. She paused with the brush at the tips of her hair that she’d brought over her shoulder, staring at Sandor as he stared at her. Then she dropped her hands and smiled at him.

“Everything as it should be?” she asked casually, standing and gathering up all her hairpins to carry over to her vanity.

“Yes.” He slowly made his way further into the room until he was standing at the foot of her bed next to her old cedar chest. The one that held a dirty white cloak that he’d given her so long ago. Sansa sat her things down, then turned to face him.

“I let Ona know that all of your belongings should be moved into this room tomorrow. I hope that is alright. If you don’t wish to share the bedchamber all the time, then I can…”

“No.” he cut her off, then cleared his throat. “No, I don’t need another chamber.”   

Sansa smiled, happy to hear that. Her mother and father hadn’t always shared a chamber, she knew, and it was common for married couples to have their own beds. Sansa didn’t want that. She wanted Sandor with her at night, next to her and helping to keep the nightmares at bay.

They both hesitated, unsure what the next step should be. Sansa took it upon herself to move to the head of the bed, pulling the furs down and sitting up against the pillows. Sandor watched her, and then started pulling his own clothing off. Sansa watched, fascinated as one layer after another was removed until he was down to his smallclothes and nothing else. He was just as big and muscular as she’d assumed he would be, though with far more hair. Surprisingly, it did nothing to hinder her attraction to him in the least. If anything, it made her want to touch him all the more. Once he was in bed next to her, angled so that he was facing her, he didn’t speak, but reached out to run his fingers over the spill of hair across her shoulder. Reaching out herself, Sansa placed on hand on his bare chest, and the other she cupped his cheek, gently tugging him towards her until they were kissing.

Things moved slowly after that, which was fine by Sansa. Every move Sandor made to touch her was slow and deliberate, so as not to surprise her or frighten her. Sansa appreciated it, and it also had the double effect of making every touch that much more intense until she was nearly shaking with desire. He’d scooted her down on the mattress so she was laying on the pillows, her nightdress tossed somewhere off to the side and her smallclothes kicked to the foot of the bed. His mouth kissed down her throat and chest until he was laving at her breasts, sucking and teething at her nipples. Sansa moaned with the sensation, her thighs shifting to ease the growing ache between them. Sandor must have noticed, because his hand cupped her knee and then slowly slid upwards. Her legs opened willingly, eagerly, and she gasped with shocked surprise when his rough fingers touched her most secretive spot.

Sandor pulled away from her breast as his fingers slid through her folds, gathering her wetness and teasing at her opening. His eyes caught on hers, watching her expression as he pressed forward, slipping one long finger inside of her. It felt good, but she wanted more, wanted all of him.

“Please, Sandor.” She whispered, canting her hips up. “I’m ready for you.”

Just like with everything else that night, he moved slowly between her legs, fingers still playing at the highly sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Once he was settled, fingers pressing deliciously against her, he caught her gaze once more and then sank slowly inside of her.

Sansa closed her eyes on a sigh of pleasure. There was nothing in the world that existed at the moment, no one else that could even edge their way into her mind. It was only her and Sandor and the pleasure and intimacy that they were creating.

During their short engagement, Sandor had shown Sansa that a lady could find her pleasure without ever even taking off her clothing. Now, those feelings that he’d created were magnified and more, so much more. She felt her control slipping away, all her muscles and nerves focused on their point of contact and building higher and higher, more than it had ever before. It all broke with a cry from her throat, her body instinctually tightening itself around Sandor, holding on and riding out the waves of bliss. She could hear him panting, his breathing coming rougher until he was groaning, his body surging deeply inside of her before going stiff.

“Sandor.” She whispered his name, holding his head into the crook of her neck. She could feel the heat of his tears dripping onto her skin, and she sniffed her own sob back as tears slid down her temples. It wasn’t a cry of pain or despair. She just hadn’t known it could feel that way, that it could be like that. Pressing a kiss to his sweaty brow, she urged his head up so she could kiss his lips.

“Thank you.” She said into his mouth. “Thank you. Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” he questioned, pulling back enough to look at her.

“For everything.” She laughed. “For making it so lovely. For being so patient with me. For caring about me and protecting me. Thank you for choosing me.”

Sandor huffed a laugh, giving a small shake of his head. “Daft little bird.” He said softly. “There was no other choice once I met you.”

"Not even one?" she asked with a smile, smoothing hair from his forehead. "Surely over the years there's been women who caught your eye."

"My eye, perhaps." he agreed, leaning down to kiss the side of her neck. "But nothing more than that."

"Good." she sighed, arching her head back to give him more room. "I want you all to myself."

Sandor chuckled, teeth scraping gently across her pulse point. Then he looked up at her with a raised brow.

"And you thought I'd make a good match for that wild sister of yours."

With a blush, Sansa pushed at his shoulder. "I only ever wanted her happiness. And yours."

"Before even your own, yes Little Bird, I know." he shook his head, but there was a fond look in his eyes. "But I could never make your sister happy. And there's not a single chance in all the buggering hells that she could ever make me happy. That's your ability. I swear you must be at least half a witch."

"Not a witch." she wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. "Just the little bird who managed to snare the hound."  


End file.
